


Tracer's Pints

by NiteWrighter



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Post-Recall, Reaper76 if you squint, alcohol consumption, fluffy fluffy fluff fluff, gee nitewrighter how come your mom lets you have 83687 headcanons?, gency if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9526601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteWrighter/pseuds/NiteWrighter
Summary: Tracer and Emily hang out at a pub and make out and Tracer talks about Overwatch.You asked for it! You got it! A continuation ofTracer's Post-Its!





	

They canceled their reservation at the fancy restaurant and opted for the little pub near Tracer’s flat instead. Tracer kept the chronal accelerator on. No point in hiding it anymore. They sat at the bar, Tracer fidgeting and Emily twisting a lock of her hair around her finger pensively.

The bartender set their pints down in front of them and Tracer nursed at the foam on hers.

**Pint 1:**

“Okay,” said Emily, taking a sip of her amber lager, “So… what did you call it again? A coronal…?”

“Chronal accelerator,” said Tracer, “That’s what Winston called it,” She imitated Winston’s gesture of straightening his glasses, “‘From the greek ‘Khronos’ meaning ‘time.’”

“And… you wear it because…?” Emily was staring into the glowing blue light.

“Because of the chronal disassociation,” said Tracer.

“The what?” said Emily.

“I…uh… I fall through time,” said Tracer.

“ _Through_ time,” Emily repeated.

“Well… you know how I told you I was a pilot, right?” said Tracer.

“Yes,” Emily said slowly and warily.

“I was a pilot with Overwatch,” said Tracer.

“Overwatch!” Emily repeated after her and ran a hand through her hair, her eyes wide, “Overwatch…” she said a bit more softly.

“Yeah…” Tracer rubbed the back of her neck.

“Thank you,” said Emily.

“What?” said Tracer.

“Well—I guess not you, personally. You probably weren’t there but… I was in Belfast…and I was just a little kid but—Overwatch saved my life.” 

“Belfast— _Belfast!_ ” Tracer repeated after her, “ _You_ were in the Belfast Bloodba—“ she caught herself, “The Belfast Incident?”

Emily nodded and then hiked up her skirt on her left side, revealing a long scar that ran along the outside of her leg and continued up past her skirt, “The scar ends here,” said Emily pointing at the bottom of her ribs.

“Woah…” Tracer’s eyes were wide. She flushed a little at how much leg Emily was showing her and bit the inside of her lip.

“Oh please,” said Emily, tugging her skirt back down, “It’s nothing special. Everyone and their mum’s got Omnic Crisis scars. But falling through time! How does that work?”

“I was, um…” Tracer scratched the side of her head, “I was test piloting a prototype teleporter jet. And… there was a malfunction, and everyone thought I was dead, only I wasn’t dead, I was falling through time because…I don’t know, I guess whatever was keeping me in this time got…uh…broken when the jet malfunctioned. Winston says teleporters fold up time and space—and in order to move through them, they sort of…temporarily undo what keeps you glued to this time and space and temporarily convert you into energy. But it’s supposed to be temporary. When it malfunctioned, it wasn’t there anymore.” 

Emily sipped her beer, “I’m… still not sure I understand. How do you fall through time?”

“Okay,” said Tracer, “Okay—uh…” she picked up a napkin off the bar, “Imagine this napkin is time. How we’re all moving through time—like the standard how-everyone-experiences-time time and we’re all stuck in it and that’s fine.”

“Okay…” Emily said slowly.

“Now imagine my finger is me,” said Tracer, she set her finger on top of the napkin. “So I was just like everybody else, experiencing time just fine, then the jet malfunctioned and then….” She poked her finger through the napkin, “Like… I would occasionally come back,” she brought her finger out of the napkin, “But for a long time a lot of it was all,” she started waving her finger around wildly with the napkin on it, “‘Aaaah! Someone help me! I don’t know what’s going on! For the love of god help me! Is anyone there!? Aaaaaah! I’m in a living hell! Aaaaaaahhh!’” Tracer stopped when she noticed the horrified look on Emily’s face then cleared her throat, set her napkin hand down, and sipped her beer, “…I got better,” she said.

“Because of that guy you mentioned? Winston?” said Emily. She pointed at the chronal accelerator, “He built that?”

“Yes! He’s my best friend and the smartest scientist I know!” said Tracer, eager to change the subject now, “He built his own rocket and came here from the Horizon Lunar Colony!” 

“The Horizon Lunar Colony?” Emily looked up from her beer, “The one where the gorillas killed everyone?”

“Ye—” Tracer started brightly then caught herself and got a bit more somber, “Yeah…” she said, “He doesn’t like to talk about it though.”

“How’d he survive? And build a rocket? With gorillas trying to kill him?” said Emily, sipping her beer.

“Oh well they weren’t trying to kill him, of course,” said Tracer, sipping her drink.

“But all the human scientists on that colony—” Emily started and then stopped. She grabbed her pint glass and took a deep drink. “Winston is a gorilla,” she said, 

“Yeah,” Tracer said easily and casually sipped her beer then glanced over at Emily, who was staring wide eyed into space.

“Winston is a gorilla,” she said again.

“Em…?” said Tracer.

“A _gorilla,_ ” Emily said, running her fingers through her hair.

“I…probably should have started with that,” said Tracer. She took out her wallet and pulled out a photo. She held it out to Emily, who took the photo and looked at it for a few quiet moments. “That’s you,” said Emily, pointing to Tracer leaping up in the photo.

“Uh huh,” said Tracer.

She pointed to the gorilla in the photo, “Winston?”

“Yeah,” said Tracer. 

Tracer watched as Emily’s eyes flicked over the photograph. “That’s Jack Morrison,” she said, pointing to Jack, “The man in all the posters,” she paused, and looked up at Tracer, “You were famous, you were heroes.”

“We tried,” said Tracer, rubbing the back of her head. She picked up her pint and drank deeply. Probably deeper than she thought advisable on her, what, third date? Fourth? But then her mind wandered back to Gibraltar and everything she left behind there.

“God, I feel like an idiot,” said Emily, breaking Tracer out of her thoughts.

“Huh?” said Tracer.

“You were in Overwatch—you were famous—and I thought you looked familiar but it never clicked. I thought you just had one of those faces.”

“One of those _cute_ faces, I hope,” said Tracer, grinning and leaning close with her chin on her knuckles, prompting Emily to break out into a splutter of giggles. 

“All that flying around the world… all those adventures…I must be terribly boring for you,” Emily said, sipping her beer.

Tracer was alarmed by this. “What? No! Em, no! Never! You’re brilliant!” She suddenly realized she had grabbed Emily by the shoulders and and that their faces were very close. Tracer broke off, flushing hard and taking another gulp of her beer, only to find her pint pretty much empty save for a bit of foam on the bottom of her glass. “You’re not—” she pushed her glass away for the bartender to take, “You’re not boring. You’re… you’re funny and patient and kind and honestly I don’t know why you’re still talking to me because any normal person probably would have walked out of this pub the second I told them that I’m not actually attached to this time.” Tracer rubbed her forehead, looking down, “Ever since the slipstream, everything’s always… it’s always shifting for me. It’s always moving so fast. I’ve never felt attached to anything. All that time I’ve never—never been _stable_ , Em. I didn’t know that I’d forgotten what it felt like to be sure about something until I met you.”

She glanced up and saw that Emily was red. Bright red, and then she ran over everything she had just said and caught herself. “Got heavy there,” Tracer said, running her hand through her hair, “Sorry. Got really heavy there.”

“A little heavy,” said Emily.

“Way too heavy for a third date,” said Tracer shaking her head.

“Just a little heavy,” Emily said, nodding.

“‘Nother pint?” said Tracer.

“Yes, another pint,” Emily nodded faster. 

“Can we get another round here?” Tracer called out to the bartender. She nervously drummed her fingertips on the bar as they waited for their next round of pints. She sighed, “God, where do you even go from there?”

“The photo!” Emily blurted out, “Tell me more about the people in the photo.”

“Yes! The photo!” Tracer agreed, “That’s such a good idea. You’re so smart. You’re amazing.”

“Tell me about Jack Morrison,” said Emily.

“The commander?” Tracer scoffed and giggled a little as the next round of pints was placed in front of them, “Okay, I’ll tell you about the commander.”

**Pint 2:**

“Well he was American, so… everything that comes with that, you know,” said Tracer, sipping her beer, “All cocksure and…” she tried squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin up, and furrowing her brow, putting her hands on her hips, posing heroically, “‘Course… All Overwatch was either as weird as me or weirder, so… You know I think he did a good job, actually,” she shrugged, “I trusted him, yeah?” She laughed a little, “The laws of time and space don’t apply to me, but Morrison’s rules did. Says a lot about him I guess.” She ran her finger down the cold condensation on her pint glass, “He could be a hardass though, and sometimes he didn’t really have an off-switch. That was when Captain Amari would come in, but she could be a hardass too—not off-mission as much as Jack was, but you mess with her and _hoo boy_ ,” Tracer pointed to the woman off to the far right in the photo, “That’s her there, with the rifle.” Tracer leaned her chin in her hand and stared at the photo, “Reyes, Amari, and Morrison… If anyone could have saved the world, it would be them.”

“Reyes?” Emily repeated.

Tracer grinned a bit wickedly and pointed at the man on the far left of the photo, “Gabriel Reyes,” she said with a dramatic growl in her voice, “Head of Blackwatch.”

Emily looked concerned and Tracer just laughed.

“No, he was all right, honestly. Also, fella could sew like no other. Could’ve been a fashion designer if he wasn’t so good at shooting stuff.”

“You’re joking,” said Emily.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” said Tracer, “Truth be told I never saw that much of him… covert ops and whatnot. But he would walk into the room and that hardass expression on Jack’s face would just…disappear. And Jesse, oh, Jesse adored him. Gave him endless shit but that’s just sort of how they were with each other. He could be a little shit like that… buttering up Ana so she’d take his side when Gabe yelled at him. And then Jack would calm Gabe down to sulking and…well…Somehow it all worked out.”

“Which one’s Jesse?”

“The one in the cowboy hat,” said Tracer, pointing to McCree in the photo.

“Why is he wearing a cowboy hat?” said Emily, laughing a little.

“Oh that was his thing,” said Tracer, sipping her beer, “He acted like the cowboys from those old movies.”

“He did not,” said Emily.

“He talked like one and everything!” Tracer insisted, “All ‘This here town’s not big enough for the two of us!’ and ‘There’s a snake in my boot!’ Okay, I mean, I never heard him say those specific things, but I’m 90% sure he’s said them at some point.”

“You’re saying he was a top-skilled black ops agent… who acted like a cowboy…” Emily said slowly.

“The crazy thing is no one actually knew if he was honestly a real-life cowboy or if that was like… his gimmick or not. He was with some desert motorcycle gang or something before, and had some kind of plea deal thing going with Overwatch… but before that? No clue,” Tracer sighed and sipped her beer, “Americans, I swear. Never know what the hell’s going on with that country.”

“So does he still act like a cowboy?” Emily paused, “Is he still alive?

“He disappeared a couple months after Captain Amari died, and a couple months before the Zurich headquarters got destroyed… Winston says he’s gotta be alive since the recall reached him, but he hasn’t really checked in yet…I saw something about him in the newspaper a while back… I wonder how he’s doing.”

“Recall?” said Emily.

“Oh—yeah…uh… you know how that one week I had those broken ribs?”

“Yes?” Emily said slowly.

“It’s just… the thing is… with Talon popping up again, Winston thought we should—-well it’s nothing really like, official yet… We just go in and help where we can….”

“You’re bringing back Overwatch,” Emily said, eyes wide. 

Tracer looked panicky for a few seconds and made a ‘Don’t say that so loud’ gesture and Emily looked around before leaning close to Tracer. “Vigilantism?” she whispered.

“I like to think of it like… volunteering,” said Tracer, grabbing her beer and sipping it. She sighed and pressed her hand against her forehead, “It got heavy again, didn’t it?”

“You’re… you’re running around and fighting terrorists and getting hurt…” Emily trailed off and sipped her beer, “And you fall through time. And your best friend is a gorilla from the moon. And you worked with all those heroes and one of them was a cowboy for reasons no one can explain.” 

“I’m trying to figure out when I should have told you this stuff…” said Tracer, she suddenly straightened up in her seat, “You know… if it’s a deal breaker for you, I won’t blame you. This is another one of those points where any sane person would walk away and—and it’d okay with me because I want you to be safe.”

Emily’s eyes scanned over Tracer’s face. Slightly furrowed brow, some sadness in her bright brown eyes, mouth small and tight.

“Is this a hero thing?” asked Emily.

“A what?” said Tracer. 

“All this, _‘Don’t feel like you have to stay, I don’t want you to get hurt’_ stuff,” said Emily.

“I _don’t_ want you to get hurt,” said Tracer, picking up her beer and drinking deeply at the very thought of it.

“Lena, I’m a pro-Omnic activist in King’s fucking Row. I’m not afraid of anything,” said Emily, sipping her beer as well.

Tracer set her pint down and stared at her.

“What?” said Emily.

“Oh—you got a bit of foam there,” said Tracer pointing at Emily’s lips.

“Shit,” Emily wiped at her mouth with her knuckles. “Did I get it?”

“Nope, still there,” said Tracer. 

Emily grabbed a napkin off the bar and wiped her mouth again. “How about now?”

“Here, I can get it,” said Tracer leaning in a bit.

“Whuh—Oh,” said Emily and Tracer kissed her. Emily wondered what it felt like to fall through time. She assumed it must have been terrifying to lose control like that, to shift from place to place and sometimes disappear completely. She put her hand on Tracer’s shoulder and felt the strap of the chronal accelerator. She wondered if being near Lena affected the flow of time around her, making hours pass like minutes, or if that was just what being with her felt like—never long enough, trying to hold on as much as she could. And then Tracer was breaking away and sound seemed to come back into the world, no longer a muffled hum pushed out to the peripheries of her consciousness.

“There,” Tracer said as easily as if it had just been a little kiss on the cheek, “Got it.”

Emily blinked a few times and then tucked her hair back and snickered, “You—You’re sneaky,” she said and Tracer just laughed a little.

“Toldja I can get it,” said Tracer.

Emily scoffed and giggled. “Next round’s on me for that,” she said, undoing her hair from its bun and tying it into a ponytail.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Tracer as Emily waved down the bartender.

**Pint 3:**

“So this guy,” Emily pointed to a silver figure with his hands on his hips in the photo, “I’ve been wondering about him for a while. Overwatch got formed in response the Omnic Crisis, didn’t it?”

“Mm-hmm,” Tracer said, drinking her beer.

“Were there Omnics in Overwatch?” said Emily.

“There were when the conflict was dying down,” said Tracer, “Overwatch was pretty hush-hush on them for a while for good reason though.” 

“So this guy…” said Emily.

“Oh Genji? Genji’s not an Omnic,” said Tracer as the next round of beers were set in front of them, “He’s a cyborg ninja.” She said ‘he’s a cyborg ninja’ as if it was as normal as saying,‘He’s an accountant.’

Emily tented her fingers in front of her. At this point she wasn’t really questioning whether Tracer was pulling her leg or not. “So… A girl who falls through time, a cowboy, a gorilla from the moon, and a cyborg ninja…”

“And an angel!” said Tracer, pointing to a blonde woman cheerfully clapping in the photo, “Well she wasn’t _really_ an angel. That was just the Valkyrie suit. The wings would help her fly over rubble and she had to wear this halo-looking head-thing that fed the team’s bio-data into her brain or something.”

“Into her brain?” Emily shuddered.

“Well she had some spinal prosthetics and implants from when a house fell on her,” Tracer put her chin in her hand, “Between that and losing her mum and dad, she never liked war… and she was never the biggest fan of all the missions we had to go on.” Tracer laughed a little, “She’s saved my arse more times than I can count though. Got to know her really well when Winston was first working out the kinks with the chronal accelerator because sometimes it would just slam me into a wall at 30 miles an hour.”

Emily looked horrified.

“Don’t worry—like I said, she was a really good doctor,” said Tracer, taking a drink, “She and Genji had the same problem though—Never liked talking about what was bugging them. They were always both really absorbed into their work. Genji on missions was just like,” Tracer made a ‘narrow focus’ motion with her hands, “We had our moments though… but towards the end he’d talk less and less, and I’d see less and less of him off-mission, and then finally one day just… poof. He’s gone. Jack said his contract with Overwatch was done but Genji didn’t even say goodbye. Poor Doc was pretty broken up about it—She tried not to let it show, but it was really hard on her. She and Genji had that much in common, I think,” Tracer took another drink, “I think that’s how it is with all of us towards the end. Once the Omnic Crisis was over… I guess everyone realized whose hands they had put their safety into….and… they were scared of us. Jack and Gabe didn’t look at each other the same anymore. They hardly looked at each other at all. They were still professional, but something was shifting…The missions started going south more often—Talon was on the rise and they were moving faster and striking harder than we could keep up with. Next thing I know, we’re having all these UN meetings and hearings…and then the Zurich HQ blows up, and…” Tracer shrugged and drank, “Now I’m here.” 

Tracer glanced over at Emily, noted the concern in her face and smiled reassuringly. “Hey—Don’t give me that look,” she said, playfully chucking Emily under the chin with her knuckles, “I’m fine. Gonna take a lot more than that to keep me down.” She shrugged, “Sorry all the stories keep veering into sad bits…But I guess…That’s pretty much the story. For what it’s worth, I have a lot more good memories of them than bad ones.”

“Yeah?” said Emily, “Any stick out?”

**Pint Four:**

Tracer’s bow tie was undone and her vest was unbuttoned as she finished her beer in one long gulp and slammed it down on the bar, “…and ever since that first prototype of the Tesla cannon exploded, I haven’t for the life of me been able to get my hair to lie flat. I can style it, sure, but try pressing it flat on my head, go on!” She grabbed Emily’s hand and pressed it down on her own hair. Emily gave her hair a few pats but as soon as she removed her hand, Tracer’s hair sprang right back up again. Tracer then launched into a quick overview of most of the Overwatch Parties she was able to attend and Reinhardt's attempts at introducing German cuisine into Overwatch's mess hall menus.

**Pint Five:**

After a story about how Tracer got that mark on her arm from accidentally touching Genji who had been sitting in Gibraltar’s sun for several hours, pint five was spent sloppily making out and trying not to fall off of the bar stools.

**Pint Six:**

“…so I go _flying_ and he ended up in a neck brace and that—that was the _fourth_ time I tripped over Torbjörn,” said Tracer, with Emily only half-paying attention as she pressed Tracer’s hair against her head and watched it spring back into its signature spikes with a hazy smile on her face, “The _fifth_ time—”

“Oi—ladies, we’re going to be closing up soon,” the bartender said.

“What?” said Emily, suddenly perking up, “But that can’t be right, it’s only—” she glanced at her watch and her hand flew over her mouth.

“Do I want to know what time it is?” said Tracer. Emily shook her head. Tracer sighed, “I should be letting you get home then.”

“Mm,” Emily nodded as Tracer helped her put on her coat and Tracer pulled on her own jacket and both headed out into the cold night air. There were still roving groups of revelers on a Saturday night, chattering over each other as they ambled around the entrances to the tube.

“Can’t wait to catch a train home with all the lads,” she said drily.

“I can get you home,” Tracer blurted out.

“What?” Emily turned around.

Tracer thumped her Chronal Accelerator. “I can get you home faster than the tube.”

“…How?” said Emily.

“Winston called it a ‘Chronal Distortion Field,’ I can affect the flow of time for stuff around me—it’s how I’ve accidentally brought debris back in time with me when I use the recall function and the reason why…well…my clothes stay on when I’m zipping forward or recalling. Usually I just get rid of the chronal distortion discharge through my pulse bombs but… y’know I’m not going to lob any bombs on a date,” she shrugged, “If you ride piggyback, it shouldn’t feel too different from using a teleporter. You’ve used a teleporter before, right?”

“At a science conference,” said Emily, looking unsure, “Have you done it before?”

“Oh yeah! I’ve done it with Genji!” said Tracer, “We were both absolutely shitfaced at the time though. I also managed to get a teammate out of enemy fire once or twice with it, but Winston says I shouldn’t risk using the distortion like that on a mission when the accelerator is at risk for being damaged because it might…uh… spread the disassociation.” 

Emily looked concerned at this.

“But there’s totally no risk to it now,” said Tracer, “No one’s shooting at us…”

Emily looked thoughtful. “Okay,” she finally said.

“Really?” said Tracer, excited.

“I told you, I”m not afraid of anything,” said Emily.

“Okay!” Tracer said, stepping in front of Emily. Emily awkwardly climbed into a piggyback position on Tracer’s back and Tracer stood up easily.

“You’re stronger than you look, huh?” said Emily as Tracer broke off into a run.

“Oh I’m very strong,” said Tracer, “You know the big guy I was telling you about? Reinhardt?”

“Yeah?” said Emily.

“Beat him in an arm wrestling contest,” said Tracer.

“No you didn’t,” said Emily.

Tracer snickered, “No… no I didn’t. Okay. Hold on tight, keep your head tucked down, and keep your mouth closed. I’d tell you how many bugs i’ve accidentally eaten, zipping around, but I’m pretty sure you’d break up with me.” Emily giggled and adjusted her grip on Tracer, tucking her head between Tracer’s head and shoulder. “Ready?” said Tracer.

“Ready.” said Emily.

There was a flash of blue and suddenly the bar was nearly a block behind them.

“Woah!” said Emily, “How did you—”

“Hang on!” said Tracer and Emily broke into a laugh as they zipped through in a blue blur again. Emily snorted when she laughed and made Tracer break out into a fit of giggles as they blinked down city streets, their laughter and whoops cutting in and out across the blocks of King’s Row, interspaced by the warbling sound of Tracer’s chronal accelerator thrusting them forward. They boltedup fire escapes and Emily squinted her eyes shut and squeezed extra hard on Tracer as she leapt up and shot from one rooftop to the next before zipping down that building’s fire escape.

Finally, Tracer skidded to a halt on her heels in front of Emily’s apartment building and Emily clambered off of her back but her legs turned to jelly beneath her (and her heels weren’t particularly forgiving) as she tried to stop giggling and snorting after the ride. 

“Woah! Easy!” Tracer caught her to keep her upright. 

“That was amazing!” said Emily, “You—You’re amazing!”

“Oh it’s nothing _too_ special,” said Tracer, grinning and glancing off. Emily cupped her hands to the sides of her face and kissed her. Tracer leaned into it and Emily broke away and pressed her forehead against hers, her breath fogging a bit in the November night air. Tracer felt the weight of Emily against her and pulled her in close.

“You—umm—” Emily glanced at the door leading into her apartment building, “You can come in if you like.”

“Oh—” Tracer reddened, “Yeah—o-okay.” 

Tracer’s phone buzzed in her pocket and she ignored it as Emily unlocked the front of the apartment building and they both walked in. “Shit,” said Emily, stopping in front of the elevator, “Bloody thing’s down again. Well…I’m only on the third floor. Come on,” she said, heading up the stairs.

“Right behind you,” said Tracer, her phone buzzing again. It buzzed twice in a matter of seconds. In the quiet of the apartment hallway, Emily heard the buzz of the phone and started rifling through her purse. “Who the hell would text at 3 AM?” she muttered.

“They’re not texting you,” said Tracer, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

“Overwatch stuff?” said Emily.

“Nah, it could just be Winston checking in…” said Tracer, stuffing her phone back in her pocket. It buzzed again.

“People aren’t…usually that persistent at 3 AM…” said Emily, leaning against the stairwell wall.

Tracer sighed and opened up her phone and read the texts. Her face dropped.

_Tracer_

_Jesse made contact._

_Jesse is alive._

_He’s in trouble. Big trouble. Can’t do this alone._

_We need to go ASAP._

_Bringing the Orca to you._

“Hero stuff?” said Emily, prompting Tracer to look up from her phone.

“Em—I’m sorry—I can’t just—” Tracer started and Emily stepped down a stair and kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” said Emily, cupping Tracer’s face in her hands.

“You’re amazing,” said Tracer, pressing one of Emily’s hands against her face. She broke away. “Take care, Em.”

“You take care, yourself,” said Emily. Emily’s hair and skirt ruffled in the rush of air that followed Tracer as she zipped out the door in a blue streak. She turned to go up the stairs but suddenly there was the warbling of the chronal accelerator and Tracer was at the foot of the stairs.

“How did you—” Emily started.

“Recall,” said Tracer, bounding up the steps. “Almost forgot,” said Tracer. Tracer kissed her, threading her fingers into Emily’s hair and then hugged her tight. Tracer hugged like someone who hadn’t been hugged enough.

“Please be careful,” said Emily, as Tracer broke away.

“When am I not careful?” said Tracer, heading for the door.

“You’ve just spent most of the night regaling me with all the times you weren’t careful,” said Emily.

“Ah—yes—well—” Tracer trailed off and then cleared her throat, “I’ll be careful.”

“You better,” said Emily.

Tracer gave a small salute as she headed out the door. Emily watched as she trotted down the steps to the street, then disappeared in a blue flash.

Emily slumped her shoulder against the wall of the stairwell, waiting a few moments for Tracer to suddenly phase back and say ‘False alarm!’ or something like that, but she didn’t. Emily sighed and chuckled a little bitterly. “Of course,” she said to herself, heading up the stairs to her apartment, “Billions of people in the world and you manage to find the one time-traveling vigilante,” she said, pulling off her pumps and undoing her bra and taking it off before flopping onto her bed, “Good one, Em,” she said to herself. She heard her phone buzz and rolled over to the edge of her bed to pull it out of her purse. Lena had texted her.

_Em—_

_Taking you dancing when I get back. Don’t let me forget!_

_—T_

“Good one, Em,” Emily said to herself again, a slight smile on her face this time, before curling around her phone and letting sleep envelop her.


End file.
